all eyes on us .

[charlotte lemeir]

She nods, ”only if you actually want to.” Weaving through the crowd of people she now only realizes how busy the cafe is. She’d forgotten about the lack of French babbling and zoned into them. Stepping into the New York City Street, a wave of humid air hits her. She loved the city, but she hated it in the summer. Preferring the slick icy streets to the all too common heat wave. ”You know, it’s actually kind of mean that all it took for you to move to New York was us breaking up.”

[oscar rutherford]

"I like hanging out with you. Still." They had spent so many years together, it had felt strange when that came to an abrupt end. Not strange, actually, more like devastating, crippling, the worst thing he had ever been through. Even if they had been long distance, he still went to text her good morning and good night, still wanted to share memes or tell her fun tidbits of gossip. They fall into step beside each other and he's reminded how small she is, though it looks like she's lost weight since he last saw her in the flesh. "Just chasing your ghost. Besides, couldn't live in France, too many frogs. Do you like it?"

[charlotte lemeir]

She looks up at him and smiles faintly, ”I like hanging out with you too.” He matches her steps and they carry in sync down the sidewalk. She remembers when they last saw each other. It was at the airport and she was crying, which she really didn’t do often despite recent events. But she each time one of them left it became increasingly harder. She laughs, ”I like frogs.” She knows it’s not what he meant, but Charlotte was the type to scoop a little amphibian from a busy path into a quiet bush. ”I like the countryside. I don’t like the city much, it makes me miss home. You must miss home.”

[oscar rutherford]

It's frustrating how much joy it brings him to hear her reciprocate his feelings. "Only when someone asks me about football and they mean NFL." Not entirely true. Lately he had been pining for home in a way he'd never experienced before, missing his parents, missing his sister, missing his ragtag group of friends. He missed being able to call someone a cunt without them looking completely aghast, he missed M&S. If he spent any time thinking about it he would realise he missed these things when he was feeling down, and most of the time he felt down when he thought of Charlotte. A babyish impulse, wanting to run back to his parents. "I miss you a lot, Lottie."

[charlotte lemeir]

”American Football is next level though. Has anyone brought you to a tailgate party? It’s so embarrassing.” She looks up at him and allows herself to take him in. Unlike Charlotte, who had turned to skipping meals and chopping her hair off. Oscar seemed to eat more and grow more hair. He looks a lot different but he felt the same. She was sure she could feel his presence even if he were a ghost. She feels her heart drop at his next words and a lump forms in her throat. ”I miss you so much,” he plagued every thought and every step she took. ”I don’t know why I had to fuck it up. I’ll never stop regretting it.”

[oscar rutherford]

"Oh I love that, Yanks can have a point for that one. Also for seafood boils. And Target, god, I love Target." It feels good to be spending time with her, though he knows it's probably going to hurt later; the satisfaction of scratching an itch until it bleeds. He can feel her looking at him and he's glad he became even more obsessed with the gym since they last met. He can feel himself get choked up when she says it back, a feeling he firmly rejects, forcing it down. It's everything he wants to hear but it's tarnished, recent news ringing in his ears. "Are you seriously going to marry that guy?"

[charlotte lemeir]

”And Trader Joe's! God, I've missed it.” For a short period of time she would try to convince herself that they were both better off. But it was so off mark. Oscar brought out a part of her that she loved. She took herself too seriously, was stubborn and irritable. He made her silly and smiley, he made her see colour when so often all she could see was black and white. She frowns and kicks a stray stone off onto the street, ”I took leave from work. I haven't told anyone.” A breath of a air pours from her lungs, as if she'd been holding it in since she left Paris. ”And this is a one way trip. I basically was just going to hideout until everything was back to normal. Whatever that is.”

[oscar rutherford]

"Fuck yes, their soup dumplings?" He lifts his fingers to his lips in a chefs kiss. It's similar but different to old times. Easy rapport flowing between them, though had they still been together he would be much more tactile than he is now, always slinging an arm around her shoulders or lacing his fingers with hers. His body craves that contact now, though he shifts under the weight of his backpack instead. He looks at her with a frank expression of concern. "That's not like you." He gets a thrill out of the idea of her being unhappy in her relationship and then he feels guilty for it. Realising they aren't too far from her parents' place, he feels a jolt of panic at this interaction being over, one that makes him speak rashly. "Why don't you come watch the game with me? I can make you lunch."

[charlotte lemeir]

”I know,” she says quietly. Until they had broken up, Charlotte hadn't realized how tightly she was wound to Oscar. Because they weren't physically together that often, she lived an independent life. They were tied together in different ways. He was the first person she said hello to and the last she'd say goodnight to. He was the person she'd call to celebrate with and the person she'd cry with. The beautiful buildings of the Upper East Side become more familiar as they edge closer to her parent's home. She looks up at him with her round blue eyes and doesn't think, ”okay.” Her gut becomes bubbly with nerves and as they turn she looks back at him, ”you know if you kill me, you'll be the first person they look at.”

[oscar rutherford]

He frowns at this new information, trying to reconcile how much one person could change in what was a relatively short amount of time. To his view it seemed like Charlotte was nuking her life, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough in their new dynamic to say so. Not that he has to; it’s written all over his face. “Sweet.” His expression softens when she agrees to come with him, a grin spreading across his face as he leads her in the direction of Aisha’s penthouse, unsurprisingly close to her father’s. He laughs at her comment. “Then I’ll just have to hide the body really well, won’t I?” They approach the grand building he holds up a hand in a wave to the doorman, who waves back. “Hey Eddie.” Soon they are in the elevator, Oscar swiping his pass to enable him to push the otherwise locked off penthouse button. “Did I tell you being a chef pays really, really well?” he jokes, wondering if she’s even been here before as the doors slide open and he passes through to the main floor, open plan and grand with floor to ceiling windows all around. “Everyone’s away so there won’t be too much in, but I’m sure I can scrounge something up. Want a beer? I can’t promise it’ll be a good beer but it’ll be cold.”

[charlotte lemeir]

Aisha's penthouse was unfamiliar territory for her. She saw her half-sister once a year at Christmas and the exchanged words didn't go much beyond a 'Merry Christmas'. Stepping into the lavish home, it's just as beige as she thought it would be. Charlotte slides her shoes off, her bare feet create prints on the cold floor as she follows Oscar. ”Sure.” It's clear Aisha's not been here for a while, there's bits of Oscar's clutter throughout the room. While he's behind her in the kitchen, Charlotte's found the remote control and switched it to ESPN - where there's nothing but pregame rambling from white men in suits. ”Don't worry about making anything unless you're starving,” her stomach is too full of nerves to imagine eating anything. ”Do you like it here? I'm a bit worried to sit on the couch, it's so white I'll sweat on it.”

[oscar rutherford]

Oscar feels no discomfort here, not bothering to kick his trainers off. His things are littered throughout but to be honest that was not unusual, the only difference being that the housekeeper was with them in the Hamptons and less available to tidy up after him. "Really? I'm fucking starving," he says, opening the double doored refrigerator and thinking. After a beat he settles on an easy, familiar comfort meal of scallion pancakes, easily rounding up the ingredients and fishing out a couple beers. "Asahi, actually, not too bad." He cracks open both beers, pushing one across to her. He's glad he decided to cook, washing his hands and starting the prep, the rhythm of it giving him a route by which to channel his nervous energy. "She's got a toddler and another on the way, seriously, don't worry about it." Still, he nods at the barstool at the huge kitchen island, preferring her to be close by. He considers the question. "Honestly? I feel more comfortable here as the help than I ever did as a guest. Maybe I was born to be a serf. How is it being home?"

[charlotte lemeir]

”Yeah, my dad mentioned that,” she pulls herself up onto the barstool and traces the condensation on the beer bottle. She feels a hollowness towards her sisters life that she can't put a finger on. Not jealousy, just a confusion on how this stage in her life could be so different from Charlotte's. ”You were not born for that,” she rolls her eyes and lifts the bottle to her lips. ”I haven't been home long, but it's nice. I missed New York,” she pauses to watch him fold flour into the mixture. ”Did my dad tell you Fezzik died? He got cancer, I had to put him down.”

[oscar rutherford]

The more he got to know her sister the more stark their differences were. They had nothing in common; Aisha laughed at different jokes, ate different food, had none of Lottie's mannerisms. Maybe Vegas' genes had been that strong, overriding all trace of Caesar in his firstborn. He pours boiling water on top of flour, leaving it only a few seconds before shoving his hands into the mix, ignoring the scalding heat. "He did. I'm sorry, I was gonna text but thought that would only make it worse." The dough comes together in a loose, sticky ball, which he leaves for now, rinsing his hands off. He uses the cover of the flowing water to ask a deeper question. "Do you think you might be having some sort of breakdown?"

[charlotte lemeir]

Charlotte understands and nods. The beer hits her lips and leaves her tongue tasting sour. She looks up at him when he asks his next question and laughs. ”Oh, what do you mean?” Since the break-up she had sufficiently turned her life into a steaming mess. From moving to Paris to becoming engaged to someone whose workplace sounded like a cover-up for body disposal. ”Maybe.. probably. Do you think I am?”